Claudia Hates Junk Food and Zits
by henson217
Summary: Claudia thought she'd have her shiny black hair, creamy complexion and model's figure forever. What will happen when the side effects of adolescence kick in for her... and the rest of the BSC? PG for language and thematic elements.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **The Baby-Sitters Club and its characters belong to Ann M Martin.

I was in front of my mirror, getting ready to go out with my friends, combing my long, shiny black hair and admiring my dark, kohl-lined almond-shaped eyes when it happened. I looked down at my outfit, an oversized black-and-yellow checked blouse that was knotted at the front to show my flat abs, black lycra bicycle shorts held up by polka-dotted yellow and black suspenders (wait, I'm not finished), black stockings, yellow fishnets and Docs, when I saw it. A lump of fat bulging out from my bare stomach.

Well I hate to brag, but I, Claudia Kishi am notfat. All right, so I'm a _major _junk-food addict. I hide Mars Bars and Snickers and M&Ms all over my room. (I have to do the same with my Nancy Drew books) I use all my baby-sitting money to buy candy (and clothes). My parents are all about Nutrition. They highly disapprove of junk food. They would probably have triple-heart attacks if they found out that there are six bags of Ring-Dings, or processed powders like my friend Dawn Schafer would call them, hiding in my pillowcase alone.

Okay. I know how you're picturing me. You'd think I'd be fat and pimply, right? But nope. I have smooth jet-black hair, a creamy complexion and a thin shape. My friends in the Baby-Sitters Club (more about that later) are so jealous because they have to work hard to exercise and eat healthy food to stay fit. (Not to sound like a snob- it's simply true.) Boys like Trevor Sandbourne and Pete Black say I'm beautiful (they say the same thing about my best friend Stacey McGill). I guess I'm lucky that I'm thin with flawless skin, because if I wasn't, boy, that would be a dead giveaway to my parents about my junk food.

So that little bulge in my stomach came as a big shock. I decided not to worry about it for then. But I couldn't help but undo the knot in my blouse.

_Honk! Honk! _

It was Kristy Thomas's brother, Charlie's car, The Junk Bucket (you can imagine why it's called that), with my friends inside. I hoped they wouldn't mind waiting a second or two. I applied my bright orange lipstick once more and made sure my foundation was perfect. I stuffed two Kit-Kats in my shirt pocket, quickly put in my earrings (a clay giraffe I had made myself and a little wooden lion), grabbed my purse (customized with black and yellow feathers) and dashed out the door. I opened the dilapidated (big word, huh?) door of the Junk Bucket and climbed onto a cramped seat next to Stacey. Since there were seven of us, Mallory Pike and Jessi Ramsey had to sit in the trunk. Charlie sped off.

"You look great, Claud." said Kristy. Then she added sarcastically, "I bet you spent _hours _getting ready."

I made a face at her. "So where are we going?" I asked the rest of my friends haughtily.

"New York." Stacey said vaguely. I smiled sympathetically. Despite being dragged away from the Big Apple by her dad's job, then her parent's divorce, Stacey will always be a City girl at heart.

"Dream on, Stace." said Kristy. "We're going to Washington Mall for dinner and a movie."

That's Kristy. Always the leader. Kristy is the president of the BSC because the club was her idea. She's a great leader because she's smart, outgoing, active (sometimes _very _bossy) and prone to Great Ideas. She adores sports (I can't stand them) and even has her own softball team for kids too young or not good enough for Little League. Unlike me, she dresses very casually. She practically has a uniform of jeans, a turtleneck, running shoes and a baseball cap with a collie on it (honoring her wonderful late collie, Louie). I'm always pestering her to care more about her looks, but she never listens to me. I guess a lot of her tough nature comes from the fact that she grew up mostly without a dad. You see, Kristy's dad walked out (what a jerk) of the house when Kristy was just six and left her mom with four kids. Fortunately, they've done very well and Kristy's mom has remarried to a millionaire called Watson Brewer, who has two amazing kids called Karen and Andrew.

"I think we should go to the oldies theatre." said Mary Anne. "They're showing _The Philadelphia Story_, you know."

I smiled again. Mary Anne loves movies like that- even though she always ends up using a gazillion tissue boxes because she cries so much! That girl is the emotional person I know. She's also very shy and sensitive, a very good listener- she even cries at TV commercials and pictures of animals. Actually, she has her very own kitten, Tigger back at home.

Mary Anne's mom died when she was very young, which I guess is why she's so sensitive. Boy, her dad was so strict when she was growing up. He used to make her wear little-girl dresses and jumpers and wear her brown hair in pigtails and she had a fourth-grader's curfew. But Mary Anne was able to confront him and now he's even let her get a new, preppy wardrobe (like now she was wearing a mahogany knitted sweater and a longish jean skirt), a trendy haircut and, yep, a boyfriend, called Logan. Logan is cute and funny, but I guess the coolest thing about him is that he happens to be an associate member (that means we call him when there's no one to take a job) of the Baby-Sitters Club! He's the only boy baby-sitter I know.

I bet you would never guess this, but Kristy the Kruel (is that a word?) and Mary Anne the Meek are best friends. I guess opposites really do attract. The three of us grew up together on Bradford court.

Charlie pulled up in front of Washington Mall and my friends and I climbed out of the car in turn.

"Thanks Charlie!" Stacey said perkily. (She's a bit boy-crazy right now.)

"Your welcome… nutface." he said, looking at Kristy.

Kristy pulled a face at him and Charlie pulled his window back up and drove away. We strolled inside the mall, trying to look very mature.

"Great." said Kristy. "Now where do you guys want to go first?"

"The _pet store_!" Mary Anne said, her eyes bulging out.

Stacey and I rolled our eyes.

"Zingy's," said Stacey. "I need some distant new clothes for my date with Pete." Zingy's is one of the coolest, if strangest, stores I have ever been too. They sell all these wild punk clothes, and the clerks sure look it. I usually make my clothes or buy bits and pieces of them from thrift stores and flea markets, but when I'm feeling extra-outrageous, I like to buy them from there.

Mallory's eyes bugged out.

"You're allowed to shop there?" she said, impressed.

"Sure I am." said Stacey.

"Wow. Maybe my parents will let me too when I'm thirteen."

We began to walk to Zingy's, and Stacey and I smiled at each other again. I guess you could say that we're the most sophisticated members of the BSC. By now, you're probably wondering why I'm not best friends with Mary Anne or Kristy (since we all grew up together). The reason is simply because, I hate to sound conceited but I've always been a little more mature. When Kristy and Mary Anne were dressing up stuffed animals and playing tag, I was painting or checking out cool outfits in store windows. I met Stacey in seventh grade and we've been best friends ever since. Like I said before, Stacey is originally from New York, which I think is why she's so mature. How many Connecticut eighth-graders do you know who have been to the New York Ballet or had a famous opera singer sing them happy birthday at the Plaza?

Stacey visits her dad in New York every once in a while, and sometimes she even takes me with her! (There are a lot of great art galleries there.) Stacey even looks like a New Yorker, with her long, permed blonde hair and huge blue eyes, and most importantly, oh my lord, her _clothes_. I don't know anyone who dresses like Stacey, except maybe models in magazines. She wears the most cool, sophisticated clothes. Like today, she was wearing a tight, tight, gold lamè jumpsuit, a silver metallic vest, pointy silver ankle boots and a wide matching belt. As usual, she looked terrific. I think our shared love of fashion is a big reason for the bond between me and Stacey.

It's not that we don't care about other things. It's not like our lives revolve around what we wear and look like. It's just that to us, clothes aren't just something you use just to cover your body. (Is that really necessary?) They're something you use to reflect your whole personality, your inner self. When I walk on the street, I am giving strangers a statement that I am Claudia Kishi. I am unique and one-of-a-kind. After all, how many other Japanese-American baby-sitters with long silky black hair who love junk-food and art and hate school are there in the world? And my clothes can tell you this. I use my body as a canvas.

Speaking of clothes, Stacey and I were currently fixed on the most dibble (that's a word my friends and I made up; its short for incredible) pair of retro, faux leather pants in hot pink, in the window of Zingy's.

I gasped. "Oh my lord, I am wearing that with my sequined pink leotard with the appliquéd unicorns on it and my red suede miniskirt!"

Kristy gave me a funny look. "You mean your parents would let you?"

I shrugged. My parents are pretty loose with me, clothes-wise. They'd let me wear pretty much anything. The pants were very wild and unconventional, almost _punk_. Very me.

"Do you need assistance?" came a bored voice.

I twirled behind and nearly jumped. A woman with a green Mohawk about, ten inches (I'm not good with geometry) in the air, buckets of black eyeliner and orange lipstick was standing behind me, wearing a Zingy's uniform.

"Oh, uh…" I tried not to look intimidated. "I'd like to purchase those pants, please."

"Would you like to try them on?" she asked.

"Uh, no thanks." I'm fairly skinny. Pretty much anything can fit me.

The woman raised her skinny eyebrows, but led us into the store and I tried not to wince as Mallory and Jessi muffledly giggled, "Even the_ boys are wearing make-up!_"

How immature. I thought everyone had come to accept that a lot of men and boys these days wear makeup and get their ears pierced.

We left the store five or so minutes later, me with the pants, Stacey with the same ones in black and Mallory with pink cotton leopard-skin leggings.

"Mal are you _sure _your mom and dad would-" Mary Anne asked for the thirtieth time.

"Positive." interrupted Mallory. "My parents are really starting to loosen up."

"That's a pretty big step." I told her, popping an M&M from my purse into my mouth. We began to head towards Friendly's for dinner now.

"But whatever you say." said Kristy.

Meanwhile, Dawn was fuming at Stacey and me.

"How can you guys _do _that? How can you buy something made from what was once a _living creature's skin_?"

I think I should tell you that Dawn (who's Mary Anne's stepsister!) is very concerned with animal rights and the environment. Probably because she comes from California (that's where she lived before her parents got divorced and her mom married Mary Anne's widower father), where everyone eats health food (yuck). Dawn couldn't be more California if she tried. She even looks it, with her long white-blonde hair and deep tan. She's into health food, which means doesn't eat red meat or sugar (can you believe it?). She's easygoing and laid-back but can also be very opinionated about subjects she feels strongly about. I think she's an individual. She doesn't care what people think about her and does what she wants (unless it's hurting someone). Although Dawn loves Stoneybrook, deep down inside, she misses California terribly. She loves to surf and go to the beach, things you can't do in Stoneybrook. I can see the sadness at the bottom of those sea-blue eyes.

"Dawn that was _fake_." groaned Stacey, as we sat down at a booth. "I asked the saleswoman."

"Besides," I asserted. "Real leather is out of fashion anyway." It was true. _Wear Fake for the Animal's Sake _bracelets are the latest craze at our school.

Dawn made a face. "It's important to value humanity over trends in any case." She gestured towards her oversized pale blue button-down man's shirt, jeans and sneakers.

"And comfort." added Kristy.

"Well all you wear is jeans and stuff. You don't understand how important looking good is to us." I said, throwing in a little sniff.

"Maybe that's because we don't feel that we have to wear fancy clothes and makeup to impress boys." retorted Dawn.

Just then, the waitress came over, halting our argument. We all ordered Colossal Burgers, except for Dawn, who ordered a Caesar salad.

"So what movies are playing at the cinema?" asked Stacey, changing the subject while we waited for our food.

Mary Anne looked at the movie schedule she was clutching. "There's _Paris for Two_. That's a romantic comedy. And _Night of the Living Dead_…"

Blech. We quickly shook our heads. We can't stand movies like that.

"…then there's _Out of this Universe_….Oh my lord, that has Cam Geary in it!"

Cam Geary is Mary Anne's favorite actor. Mary Anne is always telling Logan he looks just like him.

"What's it about?" asked Kristy, tapping her sneakered foot.

Mary Anne took a look at the description. "Oh… It's about… a couple that gets separated. In outer space. And they have to try to find each other- oh…" Mary Anne's eyes started to well up.

"Mary _Anne_." we started to comfort her. She is so sensitive.

"So that's it? That's what we're seeing?" Kristy interrupted us.

"Well, it's showing at seven thirty." I said. "Its two hours long, and Charlie will be picking us up ten o' clock, so that should give us enough time to do a little bit more shopping before our ride comes."

"Not us." said Mallory, referring to herself and Jessi. "Our parents are picking us up at nine thirty sharp."

"I guess we'll have to miss out on the shopping part." Jessi said morosely (I learned that word in English. It means 'sadly' and 'gloomily').

"Our parents are like army generals." moaned Mallory.

"I know!" said Jessi.

Maybe you're wondering why Mallory and Jessi had an earlier curfew than the rest of us. That's because they're eleven and the rest of us are thirteen. Maybe that's why they're best friends. Both of them are obsessed with reading, especially horse stories and they both complain that their parents are too strict with them. I personally think that's just a phase- eleven is a tough age. On the other hand, Jessi is a ballerina, while Mal is an aspiring authoress. Jessi comes from a normal-sized family, while Mallory has (wait for it) _seven _siblings! Then there's how they look. Jessi has _looong _dancer's legs, cocoa-colored skin, and chocolate eyes and is African-American (which none of us could care less about). Mallory is Caucasian, with, to her despair, unruly red hair, freckles, glasses and braces. Right now she's pretty upset with her parents because they won't let her wear contact lenses or wear wild clothes like tight, patterned leggings and baggy glittery tops. Things will improve for her, I know. Besides, I'm sure she'll look cute when she's older. I was going over her features, wondering how they'd look in a few years' time when our food arrived, and we dug in.

"I just hope you know that you're devouring what was once a living, breathing creature." Dawn commented, eyeing my food. She was picking the bacon out of her salad already.

Mary Anne sat back, turning green. "That's it. I can't eat anymore."

"_Da-awn_!" we all exclaimed at once. And that, that was a true blue BSC moment. We're such close friends and nothing can tear us apart. It's moments like these that make me so grateful to have such terrific friends.

We wolfed down our dinner as we talked and laughed about school, the BSC and life. When we were finished we ordered dessert. Kristy and Mary Anne ordered a banana split to share, and Jessi and Mallory ordered Double Thick Milkshakes. Me? I ordered a Caramel Fudge Brownie Sundae anda chocolate milkshake. I don't understand the 'fraidy-cats who try to make you feel like a glutton by ordering some tiny little fruit salad. Then again, other people probably gain weight a lot easier than I do. My friends and I finished our deserts and headed towards the movie theater, in deep discussion.

Speaking of ordering nothing, you might have noticed that Stacey and Dawn hadn't ordered dessert. You know Dawn's a health food freak, but Stacey stays away from dessert because she has no choice. That's because Stacey is diabetic. That's a lifelong disease where her pancreas can't control how much sugar goes into her bloodstream, which means her blood sugar could get seriously out of wack, which could land her in the hospital. Stacey has to stick to a diet of (ouch) no sweets and give herself regular (ugh) insulin shots. But she deals with it fine. It's crazy how junk food could make Stacey seriously sick, while I couldn't live without it.

"Earth to Claudia!" We were now at the box office and Kristy was trying to hand me my ticket for _Out of this Planet_ (or whatever it was called). I had been staring dreamily off into the distance, feeling very full, and I jumped when I heard Kristy's voice.

"Sorry." I grinned and took my ticket. "Just thinking."

Next, my friends and I went to get our popcorn. Suddenly, looking at the drool-worthy snacks, I didn't feel so full. I ordered a large popcorn to share with Stacey, a Pepsi, even a brownie and a Mars Bar

"Mars." I joked wearily. "Because of the movie? It's about space?"

"Uh-huh." said Kristy. "Claud, you're crazy. How can you eat those after having that dessert?"

"A great food connoisseur never reveals her secrets." I said grandly.

Kristy looked at me. "You're crazy."

We giggled our way into the theatre. (The audience sure must have liked us.) The movie was just beginning to start. As I began to indulge into my Mars Bar, I remembered the bulge in my stomach and felt a nagging feeling of _How are you going to fit into those leather pants?_ but I hastily put that thought out of my mind and began to concentrate on the next two hours of space, romance, and gorgeous Cam Geary. The evening was just beginning!


	2. Chapter 2

Everyone who knows Claudia Kishi knows that I do notenjoy Monday mornings. A, because you miss a perfectly good chance to sleep in. And B, because it is the first of five long days of _school_.

Today there was an added C. As I splashed water on my face, I spotted (ha-ha) a _humongous_ zit on my face. On the tip of my nose.

It was bright red and positively glowing. Well, sorry, but I'd never actually seen one before today. I mean, sure, I had seen them on my sister Janine, the girl at the counter in the Rosebud Café, and the kids at school. But myself? Nope. Never. I tried touching the zit, then quickly withdrew my finger. Ouch. Bingo. I'd pluck it off. But… wouldn't it _hurt_? And then I reminded myself of plucking my eyebrows (not that I need too). Walking in foot-maiming heels. Poking my eyes with the kohl pencils. Beauty _hurts_. But it has to be done. That's right. I grabbed a tissue and attacked the zit. Nothing. I tried scratching, and finally twisting.

Success. After a short, if very violent struggle, the zit (EW!) melted right off. The problem was that I was now left with a sore, bleedy stub. I grabbed some foundation and covered it up. You could still see a bit of it, and it still hurt, but this was the best I could do. I brushed my teeth and selected some makeup to put on later, then inspected my reflection. Perfect, or at least close.

As I walked to my closet to choose my clothes, it dawned on me that I had just gotten a zit. The first one I'd ever had. Weird. My friends (except for Dawn, probably because of her diet) would get them all the time. Not that any of them are horrendously acned or anything, but they do get pimples every now and then. They'd always moan about how lucky I was for never getting any. Ha. Well, maybe it was all the junk food from that weekend. I _did _go a little overboard. So why did the zit choose today in particular?

I tried to shrug it off to choose an outfit. The pants were now my closet, but I thought they might be just a little too outrageous for school. Besides, I wanted to choose a special day to wear them. Instead, I tried a purple velvet turtleneck teamed with green leggings, combat boots and a black jumper.

"Claudia!"

Nah. Too tame. I tried to spice up a tame pink dress with leopard-print leggings. Yuck.

"_Claudia!_"

"Coming, Mom!" I scrambled to put on a white wife-beater, a faded blue navy vest, lavender overall shorts and tight black leggings. I strung a pink scarf around my neck and tucked some of my hair underneath a dark blue newsboy hat and put on white platform sneakers with sparkly green laces I'd made myself. Perfect! The leggings and the hat added sophistication to the rest of the outfit and kept it from looking _too _casual, while the scarf added fun and playfulness and the shirt kept the look down-to-earth.

"CLAUDIA!"

I checked my face and made a mad dash for the stairs. My mom and Janine were staring at me, looking highly unamused.

"Morning, guys?" I said in a small voice. I bit my red-lipsticked lip. Could they see The Zit?

"Good morning, Claudia." My Mom The Librarian raised her eyebrows.

"As a result of your fashion fetishes clogging up our schedule, you have delayed things so that we will have to take the car." Janine added a little spitefully.

"You look nice, Claudia, but please try not to take so much time choosing your clothes." Mom tossed me a bagel and we were out the door. Of course, she said _clothes _like it was a dirty word. Mom and Janine could wear the same clothes every day, as far as they're concerned. I glanced at Janine in the backseat, feeling a little sorry for her. She's had a million zits in her lifetime and I've never heard her complain about them or make an effort to cover them up. Then again, maybe that stuff doesn't matter as much when you're a certified genius. Yup, you heard that right. Janine is a genius with an IQ of _196_. She's in high school but she takes college courses and she's got a computer that she does all this fancy stuff on. I've been tested for that stuff and my IQ is fine, thank you very much (I know I'm pretty smart), but I'm not a genius. I'm not dumb, though I feel that way sometimes, but I don't do very well in school except for art, while my sister is a straight-A student. Of course, my parents love Janine because of this. On the other hand, she doesn't have many friends (probably because of her looks) and she's not much of an artist, while I have lots of friends and I'm a whiz at art. I guess we're both happy the way we are.

You could say that Mom and Dad's intellectual genes went straight to Janine. So who do I take after? Don't worry. I'm not the only crazy, wild, artistic person in the family. My mom's sister, aunt Peaches is just as outrageous as me. And then there's Mimi.

Mimi was my maternal grandmother. She was the most important person in my life. She shared my passion for art, and she was my biggest inspiration. Sadly, she had a stroke last summer, and passed away shortly. I think about her every day. Shortly after she died, I made a beautiful painting of her which is hanging in my very own room right now. That way she'll always be with me in a way.

"Have a nice day, Claudia." came my mother's flat voice again.

I jerked up, and saw that the car was parked in front of SMS. I kissed Mom and waved to Janine, then jumped off the car.

"Remember to keep up with your work!" Janine cried, as the car sped away. "And above all, have fun!"

Yeah, right. Trying to look extremely cool, I strutted to the school building to find my friends.


	3. Chapter 3

"So if someone ran a steamroller over this Mystery Meat, and then you did a line dance on it and then you stuffed it in a damp cardboard box in your backyard and kept it in there for a month, than Watson's cat, Boo-Boo walked on it, than you know what it would taste like?" Kristy Thomas questioned, giving her Mystery Meat a poke with a fork. "It would taste like-"

"Ew, ew, ew. I don't _want_ to know." Mary Anne made a hideous face and we burst out laughing.

It was lunchtime again, and Kristy was making revolting comments about the hot lunch while Mary Anne turned green. Half of the school day had gone by without anyone noticing The Pimple, (or if they did, without anybody commenting on it) and I was now ready to spill the beans. I knew I could count on my friends when it came to advice. I just hoped that none of them would recommend theSMS hot lunch to cure it. I was happy wolfing down my own lunch brought from home- a Nutella sandwich, a bottle of Gatorade, a Ring-Ding, fruit roll-ups, a brownie from the lunch lines and a boring apple. Stacey looked the epitome of NYC (that's short for New York City by the way) cool, eating cold pizza in tight cropped jeans, a baggy black sweater, a black-and-purple polka-dotted vest and a black beret. From her pierced ears hung two dangling silver hoops. Dawn was wearing baggy jeans and a baggy white man's shirt with a smiling, crudely drawn goldfish on the pocket (it bore the slogan 'fish are friends not food'). She has her ears pierced twice (talk about fresh) and she was wearing one earring with a smiling orange goldfish, and another one with a sad, dead goldfish. The other holes just had big gold hoops in them. Her lunch consisted of a plain salad, yoghurt, a sprout salad (blech) and pomegranate juice. I decided never to move to California when I saw this.

"If you don't like the school lunches," Dawn suggested. "try bringing your own lunch to school ."

"Nah," replied Kristy. "It's much more fun to make disgusting comments about this." She gave the mystery meat a poke and it jiggled. "Yuck. I bet this stuff is a giant pimple scarped off some poor guy."

"Kristy, yuck!" Mary Anne giggled.

I cleared my throat. "Uh, you guys? I have something to show you,"

"Don't worry, Claud, all your art is totally dibble." Stacey said, not even looking up.

"No." I said. "It's not art." I leaned my face in. "Do you notice anything _different _about me?"

Four baffled pairs of eyes stared at me.

"Another ear piercing." Kristy said flatly.

"Claud, you _didn't _get a nose ring, did you?" Mary Anne was hiding her eyes under her fingers.

"Oh my lord, that's so chilly!" cried Dawn. "Let me see, where is it?

"_No_, you guys, it's not that either." I said exasperatedly. "I'll give you a hint: it's red and…" Hmmm. I tried to think of a word that rhymed with _zit_.

"Lipstick?" asked Stacey.

"No, you guys!" I moaned. "It's a zit! Understand? A _zit_!" I wanted to cry.

Kristy gave me a funny look. "And since when does Claudia Kishi get zits?"

"Since now." I wiped a tear from my cheek.

"You're right." Kristy said. "But it's tiny."

"And it's the first one I've ever seen on you." Stacey comforted.

"Don't worry, Claud. We all get them." Mary Anne put a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"Ha. I look like Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer." I grumbled, rubbing the zit on my nose. A glop of foundation came off on my finger. Wait a minute. I grabbed a compact mirror from my pocket. "Oh _lord_!" I moaned. "It's _two _of them!" I hadn't seen the other one before. It was on my forehead, and pretty small compared to the Rudolph one. But who knew pimples could come up so _fast?_

"I didn't see that one on your nose before." Stacey admitted. "But you covered it up pretty well. I'm sure you could cover both of them up with a good concealer."

"You think?"

"Sure. I mean, Claudia, if we were all as gorgeous as you, pimples would be coveted for. In all honesty, I'm pretty glad that I found out that you get zits too. It just proves that you're human."

Harrumph. "Well, thanks a lot." I haughtily took a bite of my brownie.

"You are what you eat." Dawn, who had been quite all this time, said.

"Huh?" I quickly glanced down at my hands. Fortunately, they hadn't turned into elongated Mars Bars or anything. "Nice, Dawn, but I'm afraid that's a dumb expression. I mean, I'm not a giant Twinkie, and you're not a big carrot, so…"

"Don't take things so literally, Claud." Dawn said. "What I mean is that everything you eat will take effect on your body. For example, every time I eat a tofu salad, I will feel much better and healthier inside. Every time you eat a brownie, you will feel moody and cranky and that brownie will go directly to your rear end."

"I've eaten brownies for ages." I pointed out. "And I've never gotten a zit before today."

Dawn looked at me wisely. "Today could be a turning point."

Glancing at the lump of fat on my stomach, I couldn't help but believe her.


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing I did when I got home after having my after-school snack was jump on the scale in my bathroom. Not only did my face look like Mount St. Helens, but my body looked the size of China. And one thing you should know about Claudia Lynn Kishi is that she is not a. pimply or b. fat.

The last time I went on a scale was when I was about ten years old. (So I didn't remember how much I'd weighed then.) My mom liked to see 'her little Claudia growing up'. Not that I let her anymore. Really, I don't even need to weigh myself. It's just that I don't care about those things, and I've never had a problem with my weight. Oh, and I'd been weighed in doctor's appointments too. But generally, scales are not a Typical Claudia Activity. I know some really snooty girls whose entire lives are about what clothes size they are, like Cokie Mason. Also, some overweight kids trying to lose weight who are never off the scales. But I don't fit into either of those categories. I was just Plain Old Claudia, trying to weigh herself.

I guess not doing something for a long time can make you forget how to, because I was sure having some problems with that scale. For one thing, the way it worked certainly hadn't been so funny. The minute I went on the scale, the number on it rotated to the number 115. (Our scale measures pounds.) I wondered if soon, I would have to peer over my expanding stomach. My tummy was starting to bounce whenever I moved, and I did not like that. I hoped I wouldn't end up looking like Kristy's mother when she was expecting David Michael. I stood up as straight and balanced. _Boing_. The number shuffled to a 120. The pointer began to bounce uncertainly between the two. Kind of like my newly chubby midsection. Ugh. What was wrong now? Who did this scale think it was? I peered down at it. Maybe there really was something wrong with it. Oh, boy. Why were there no numbers between the 115 and 120? Even I, Claudia Kishi, Dunce of the World knows that you cannot go straight from a fifteen to a twenty. There are four whole numbers in between. I wondered if the person who made this scale was even worse at school than I was. He should have become an artist instead of a scale-maker, or whatever that job is called. Maybe his parents wanted him to get a job that needed a lot of schooling. Kind of like mine. I noticed I was getting _way _off the subject. Quickly, I bolted out of my room and into Janine's. She was working on her computer, and looked a little annoyed to be disrupted.

"Janine?" I asked. "Can I borrow your scale, Janine?"

Janine pushed up her glasses. "Which type of scale?"

Huh? "A weighing scale."

Janine looked even more annoyed. "Be more specific, Claudia."

"Just a _scale_, Janine. The kind you weigh yourself on."

"I thought you had one in your bathroom."

"It's not working."

"I can fix it for you." she offered.

"I don't think you can. The guy who made it forgot to put the numbers on."  
Janine gave me a funny look. "Well, I don't have a scale. Use the one in mom's room. And _please _knock on the door next time."

"Whatever." I left and turned back to my room, not feeling like weighing myself again. I felt lonely and a little depressed. Back in my room, I reached for a Galaxy bar from my underwear drawer to cheer myself up.

"So I guess you aren't what you eat after all?"

"Kristy!" I'd been so absorbed in my thoughts I hadn't noticed her coming in the doorway for the BSC meeting. "Come on in."

Kristy perched herself on her typical seat, the director's chair in my room. "Hey. Pass me one of those things." she said.

Same old Kristy. I threw her another Galaxy. We sat in silence for a few minutes until the other members had all come in.

"How's the pimple?" Stacey asked me as she flung herself on my bed.

I shot her an icy Look. "Fine, thank you."

"I mean it, Claud. Has it gotten any better?"

"Not yet. How long do they usually take to go away?"

"Not much time." Mary Anne reassured me. "Only about a few days."

"My mom has some zit cream you can borrow." Mallory chimed in.

"I heard that rubbing toothpaste on pimples can make them go away." said Dawn. "I never get zits, but Sunny says it really works." Sunny is Dawn's best friend in California.

"Dawn, _ew_!" we all squealed in unison, just as the clock turned to 5:30 and Kristy yelled; "Order! This meeting of the Baby-Sitters Club shall come to _order_!"

"You sound like a drill sergeant," I murmured.

"Thank you very much."

"Give us some food!" Mallory changed the subject.

I automatically flapped open my sheet. "Here you go." I handed her a squashed bag of Mallomars. "Mallomars all round!"

"_Anyway_," Dawn was continuing. "I was thinking, Claud, that you could come over to my house sometime. I could teach you a proper skincare routine. Also, I could give you some tasty, healthy recipes. You keep complaining about all the zits you get, but with a diet like that, is it even a surprise?" She nodded towards the bag of Hershey's Kisses I was eating.

"_But these are the first zits I've ever gotten_."

"She's right." said Jessi.

"True, but most people don't get zits until they're teenagers. And that's if they don't eat healthily."

"It's not just zits." I moaned. I rolled up my shirt to show the bulge in my tummy. "I'm getting _fat_."

"Claud, you're not fat!" exclaimed Mary Anne. "You're the skinniest person I know!"

"Not anymore. Look at my stomach." I shot back.

"You just ate a bag of Hershey's Kisses! Everyone's stomach bulges out when they eat." Stacey comforted me.

"You're gorgeous. You don't have anything to complain about." Kristy declared.

"Yeah, try having glasses and braces!" said Mallory.

I sighed. "You guys, I weigh a hundred-and-fifteen pounds. Or a hundred-and-twenty. That's not good."

"It's perfectly normal." said Stacey.

"But not _thin_."

"Why'd you want to be thin anyway?"

"Oh, you can't talk!"

"Chill _out_, you guys" Dawn rolled her eyes. "Claudia, what was your weight before?"

"I don't know. I never had to worry about it."

Just then, the phone rang, quieting us. Kristy picked up the receiver. (We try to let her do that as much as we can because she's the president.)

"Hello, Baby-Sitters' Club… Hello Mr. Hill…. four o' clock?...sure…'bye." Kristy hung up the phone.

"You guys, the Hills called and they want a sitter tomorrow at four for two hours. Who can do it?"

Mary Anne checked the record book. "Well, Dawn, Kristy, Stacey and I are booked, so that leaves Jessi, Mallory and Claud."

"Count me out." said Mallory. "My mom is having friends over and she wants me to help her prepare."

Jessi looked at me. "Want the job?"

"Sure! I'll take it." I said.

Mary Anne penciled me in, while I gloated. I knew I'd have a blast. I always do at the Hills. Sarah, who's nine, is creative and artistic, kind of like me. Seven-year-old Norman, who happens to be overweight, is funny and a great kid.

I endured the rest of the meeting, excited. I hoped sitting for the Hills would take my mind of the rest of my problems.


	5. Chapter 5

On Tuesday, I rode my bike to the Hills' through the frigidity. It was pretty cold, so I wore my purple rubber rain coat (the cool kind, not the bulky kind) with matching yellow boots (and paint-splattered jeans and an embellished man's shirt I'd decorated myself underneath), even though it wasn't raining. It was mid-February, but it looked like it would snow any time. I hoped so. There's nothing like curling up on the couch after a snowball fight, sipping on hot chocolate…

Stop, I told myself as chained my bike and in front of the house and roamed to the Hills' porch. Why did I keep thinking about food? I rang the doorbell and leaned back against the door, trying to keep it off my mind. I checked my watch to make sure I wasn't too late. Nope. Five minutes early, just like I'd planned. (A good baby-sitter always tries to be on time or a little early.) Within the next few moments, Mr. Hill, who is tall and very muscly, had answered the door.

"Claudia, huh?" he said, as I walked inside the house.

"That's me." I flashed a quick smile.

Mr. Hill leaned against the door, grinning as I hung up my coat. "I'll be at the gym. My contact details and my wife's are posted on the fridge. The emergency numbers should be too."

"Do I need to know anything else?" I asked eagerly.

"Nah… just the usual." Mr. Hill turned to leave. "Don't let Norman overeat."

"'Bye, Mr. Hill!" I waved as he climbed into his Land Rover.

"Harry."

The car pulled out of the driveway and onto the road. I watched until it was out of sight. I shut the door then and leaned back against it, in awe.

"Claudia!"

Oops. I hadn't noticed Sarah Hill, a slender, pretty girl, come to the front hall. She looked excited to see me. I hope this doesn't sound conceited, but I'm one of her favorite baby-sitters.

"Hi, Sarah." I greeted her. "Where's your brother?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "He's in his room. Probably stuffing his face. He's such a pig."

I tried to change the subject. "Why don't you show me _your _room for now?"

"Sure." Sarah motioned for me to follow her up the stairs. "I just redecorated it again." she told me when she had reached the top of the staircase. "It looks so pretty." She let me into her room.

"How do you like it?" she asked me, hands on her hips.

"It's beautiful." I told her. It really was, for a nine-year-old. Sarah had replaced the rainbow motif with a unicorn one. Pink and white unicorns pranced and floated in clouds on Sarah's lily-white bedspread. The curtains matched, and I could see little unicorn sculptures and pictures that Sarah had clearly made herself on the walls and bedside table.

"You must really like unicorns, huh?" I asked her.

"I do. They're so pretty. Have you seen the movie _The Last Unicorn_?"

"Oh my lord, Sarah, I adore that movie!" I squealed. Instantly, we delved into conversation, discussing every detail of the movie.

"Washoo guy towki bow?" came a voice.

I turned swiftly. Norman was at the doorway, apparently speaking through a mouthful of Doritos.

"Uh, could you swallow?" I asked pleasantly. Norman did so.

"What are you guys talking about?" he repeated.

"Nor_man_!" groaned Sarah. "You're eating again! No wonder you're so fat!"

Norman ignored her comment, though blushing furiously. "Claudia, guess what? I lost five whole pounds."

"That's impressive." I told him. (I couldn't see much of a difference.) I hoped it was. I'm not familiar with those units.

"He's lying. He didn't lose them." Sarah told me. "Look at him!"

"I did too!" Norman said indignantly. "Dr. Reese told me so!"

"Look." I cut in. "Have you both done your homework?"

"_Yes_." Sarah said haughtily.

"Norman?"

He looked at his feet. "Not exactly. Do you think you could give me a hand with it?"

Now it was my turn to blush. I can barely do a second-grade math equation myself. Now I was supposed to help Norman with it? "Of course I can," I told him uncertainly. "Sarah, how about if you invite over a friend while I help Norman with his homework?"

"I…I don't have a lot of friends." Sarah squirmed.

Now, I happened to know perfectly well that Sarah was good friends with a little girl called Elizabeth. However, Elizabeth has been awfully cruel to Norman over his weight. So I decided not to bring her up.

"You know Karen Brewer, don't you?" I asked her, referring to Kristy's stepsister. (Kristy was baby-sitting for her siblings.) "She's only two years younger than you. How about if she came over to play?"

"Yeah…sure." Sarah shrugged.

"I'll be a minute or so." I told her. "Don't bother your brother, Sarah. Norman, get out your homework."

I trotted down the stairs, reached the kitchen and dialed Kristy's house number.

"Hello, Thomas Residence?" came her voice.

"Kristy? It's me, Claud." I said. "I'm sitting for the Hills, and…I thought it might be nice if Sarah had someone to play with, do you think you could bring Karen and the others over?"

"Well…" Kristy pondered. "Nannie's at the doctor's with Emily and Andrew, and David Michael's at the movies with Sam. Charlie's upstairs studying, so it's just us and Karen, and she has Hannie Papadakis over. I could ask Charlie for a ride. Do you think he'd mind?"

"No." I said quickly.

"We'll be right over."

"Thanks."

"'Bye."

I quickly hung up the phone and waited in front of the door anxiously with Sarah for the next fifteen minutes or so. I desperately hoped Sarah and Karen would get along well. If you have to like one person, it's Karen. She's incredibly smart, creative, outgoing and imaginative. What a great kid. I let out a dibbly huge sigh of relief when I heard the doorbell ring.

"Hey, you guys," I answered the door, letting them in.

"You mean your _majesties_." Karen corrected me. "We are not guys."

I hid a smile. That girl has the biggest imagination you have ever seen. In fact, she was dressed in a ruffly gold dress-up gown, a plastic tiara over a black witch's hat, her stepmother's (_way _too big) high heels and three oversized plastic necklaces. Hannie was dressed in a long pink negligee, probably her mother's, a black feather boa, plastic heels and a cardboard crown.

"You do look very majestic indeed," I played along.

"They were playing Let's All Come In," Kristy whispered to me. "They refused to change." Let's All Come In is a dress-up game Karen made up herself. (I told you she's smart.)

"I am the gigundoly beautiful Queen Carlotta Hyacinth Titania of Transylvania," Karen informed me.

"And I'm the princess." Hannie added.

"She is my daughter, Princess Ruby Melissa Camilla." Karen elaborated.

"You mean Princess _Jennifer_." Hannie shot back.

I looked at Sarah. She looked a little bewildered.

"Ignore Ruby." sniffed Karen. (Kristy gave her a Look.) "Claudia, who's _that?_" She pointed at Sarah.

I cringed. "That's Sarah Hill. Sarah, this is Karen and her friend Hannie. They want to play with you." I managed.

"She cannot," Karen said. "She has to be crowned."

Sarah winced. I darted up the stairs, leaving the bickering girls to Kristy. Norman looked relieved to see me.

He was also grazing on a plate of chocolate chip cookies, washing it down with a glass of milk.

"What are you eating, Norman?" I demanded, folding my arms.

Norman gulped down his cookies. I felt sorry for him. Looking down, I could see that he had already completed a lot of his homework. I felt bad for taking so long to come up.

"Cookies." Norman pushed the cookies aside, guiltily.

"That's okay." I reassured him. "What are you writing? It looks interesting."

"It's a three-page story we have to do for English. I'm writing one about this boy called Dave. He's really good at science and he's doing a project to win the science fair. Only he makes a tiny mistake, and it grows into a monster." said Norman.

"Really? Cool." I tried to look intrigued.

"Thanks."

I was starting to realize that Norman wouldn't be needing much of my help at all.

"Good day at school, Norman?"

"Depends what you mean."

I froze. "Norman, are you being bullied again?"

"Not really." he shrugged.

"What's that?"

"I've got great friends." said Norman. "There's more of us than the bullies. I guess it's the fact of life. The fat kid always gets picked on."

"Bullying should _never_ be accepted as a fact of life." I gasped.

"It's okay, really." Norman forced a glum smile.

"What about school? As in, grades?"

"Fine."

"Still getting straight As, huh?" I, myself have seen as many A-grades in my life as most people have seen purple cows.

"And Bs."

"That's pretty good."

"Yeah... want to do the math questions now?" He grabbed a cookie.

"What about your story?"

"I've done most of it. I want to get the tough stuff over with before I finish it."

In a way, I did too, so I let Norman take out his math worksheets. My heart just about broke as I watched him slave over his math questions. Norman is usually such a happy, talkative boy. He seemed truly troubled, and not because of the homework.

"Twenty-five times three. Can you help me with that one, Claudia?" he asked me half-heartedly.

"I don't know. Use a calculator."

"That's cheating."

Strange. I used calculators all the time. "How about… eighty-three?"

Norman frowned. "I don't know. There's a five at the end." He seemed to be working it out in his head. "Seventy-five." He wrote it down.

"You're pretty smart, huh?" I observed.

Norman beamed. "Thanks. Can I get more cookies?"

"You know, eating and eating isn't going to help your weight at all." I said honestly.

Norman looked slightly hurt. "I know." he observed. "But I can't help it. I've done all those diet things. They're not me. Anyway, I just lost all that weight. Shouldn't I be allowed to have some good stuff?"

I thought about it for a while. "Fine. Get more."

"Thanks!" Norman exclaimed, leaping up.

"-But." I continued. "You have to share with me."

"No problem!" Norman was out the door, plate in hand. I sighed, shaking my head. And then it came over me, just as Norman reentered the room, stuffed plate in hand. Who was _I _to tell Norman Hill not to eat?

"Cookies, Claudia?" Norman asked, pushing the plate towards me.

I smiled meekly and took a cookie, broke it in half and ate the smaller piece before I helplessly downed the other half. As I watched Norman nonchalantly finish his homework, a sinking feeling came over me. I'd always been a hopeless junk food addict. But it was never a serious problem. It had always been a quirk, part of who I was, just like Kristy's bossiness or Mallory and Jessi's complaining about their parents. People had always thought of it as cute. For someone like Norman, it was a destructive addiction. For someone like me, it was an amusing trait.

But that was before the effects came along. And a terrible perception kept nagging at me; I was awaited by the same fate as Norman Hill.


End file.
